


An Unexpected Choice

by GlassesOfJustice



Series: Daphne's Dalliances [2]
Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Bisexual Female Character, Con Artists, F/F, Fail sex, Gen, Pining, Platonic Cuddling, Rare Pairings, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 03:47:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18275129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassesOfJustice/pseuds/GlassesOfJustice
Summary: Daphne’s not fond of loose ends, but maybe her new found lady crew can help. Or, how Daphne caught feelings.





	An Unexpected Choice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Prinzenhasserin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prinzenhasserin/gifts).



> Big thank you to my beta+cheerleader [frnklymrshnkly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frnklymrshnkly/pseuds/frnklymrshnkly) and as always to my lovely wife for her sage advice and support.

** Rose Weil **

The sun is pouring into Daphne's Uptown office, causing her to squint. Cynthia gets up from the desk and closes the sheer curtain enough to block the sun from Daphne's eyes while still allowing the light to bathe the room. Coming off her directorial debut, Daphne is drowning in scripts; most are films for her to star in, and others for her to direct. Returning to the desk, Cynthia resumes prescreening screenplays for Daphne, as is their custom. The office, a converted studio apartment, is large enough for both of them to work comfortably. A drop of water, condensation from Daphne's cold brew coffee, drips onto the open page of the magazine she is thumbing through. She wipes the water away and places her cup on the coffee table, pulling her legs up onto the couch. The tension in Daphne’s body starts to ebb as she stretches out her legs and wiggles her toes; as she rolls her head, the sound of her neck popping vibrates through her eardrum and gives her the chills. Daphne looks over at Cynthia, dutifully reading a script, and wonders when her acting scripts will stop pouring in. She’s glad to add “Director” to her credit list, enjoys the work even, but also feels bitter that it’s the only way to stay relevant and hireable in Hollywood. Being in front of the camera is one of her favorite things. She is at once the center of attention and a million miles away–her character showing up in her absence. Daphne decides she’s had enough negativity for one afternoon and turns her thoughts to something she’s excited about: seeing Rose Weil again.

“Cynthia, what time did you tell Rose I would be by the studio tomorrow?” Daphne asks over the back of the couch where she's been trying to relax while she waits for Cynthia to find a diamond in the rough. She knows why she keeps getting sent "bitches” and "posh socialites" archetypes, she just wishes she would get something meatier–complicated? tortured even? Is that so much to ask? Maybe it is. 

Cynthia lays the script she's perusing on the desk and grabs her phone. “I think she wanted you early morning," she says, scrolling through what Daphne assumes is her calendar. "Yes, that's right. I confirmed with her assistant for 10.”

“10 _is_ early.”

Cynthia looks over at Daphne and rolls her eyes, “I’ll have your cappuccino and _The Post_ waiting in the car at 9:30. Her design space is only a 15 minute drive from your penthouse. If there is no traffic you’ll be early. And, if you're running late, you'll still be on time.”

“I don’t pay you enough. Remind me to give you a raise.” Pulling her attention away from Cynthia, Daphne picks up her phone, and opens Contstance’s Instagram story. Daphne enjoys getting this little window into Constance's life; their circles don't really travel the same orbit so she isn't likely to run into her in public like she might Rose or Amita. Since Daphne had started wearing Amita's jewelry out to public events, her custom pieces have become quite the hot commodity throughout the celebrity elite. Last they spoke she was working on something for Julia Roberts. Constance, on the other hand, seems to be up to her usual tricks, apparently she has a new Central Park sleight of hand game going and people are lining up to try to beat her.

* * *

The next day, when Daphne slides into the back of her town car at 9:40, Ben already has the car warmed up. He pulls away as soon as he hears her seat belt click. Mornings are the worst, Daphne thinks. She picks up the gossip rag that's waiting for her, revealing the paper bag from her favorite bakery. Cynthia had left a scone on the seat and her standard order cappuccino in the cup holder, knowing Daphne would be late and grumpy. 

Nothing compares to the warmth in her throat from that first sip of her cappuccino in the morning. She revels in the mouthfeel of warm milk and dissipating foam bubbles before turning her attention to her phone. Daphne types an email to her financial planner and money manager authorizing and directing them to give Cynthia a 15% pay raise and an immediate $5K bonus. She makes a mental note to pick out something extra special to give her for Christmas and then sends her a quick text: _Thanks for the scone, you sure know how to make me smile._ Then she adds a coffee emoji and the smiley face with heart eyes emoji and sends it off. She drops her phone into her purse and settles in to enjoy her breakfast. 

After agonizing for an hour last night and another 15 minutes this morning, Daphne decided to wear yoga pants and a loose t-shirt because she knew she would be getting in and out of Rose's new collection all morning. The pink lace bra and fuschia pink bikini-style panties with cutouts on the sides are her sexy surprise. She knows how fond Rose is of pink, and how much she likes Daphne in it—how much she likes her out of it. 

They are both lucky her Met Gala dress wasn't damaged the afternoon Rose came over to have her try on the finished piece. Situated in front of the body length mirror in Daphne's walk-in closet cum dressing room, Rose had zipped her into the dress, and they both gasped at how stunning she looked. Daphne's heart fluttered unexpectedly as Rose bagan running her hands over Daphne's body, smoothing a wrinkle here, pulling the fabric there, adjusting the bodice. The energy between them was different, had become more charged since her earlier fittings. 

For all Daphne's fretting, the dress was perfect. Daphne still isn't sure whether Rose caressing her breasts started out innocently, but it certainly didn't end that way. Rose fingered the edge of her dress, gently skimming the exposed flesh of her cleavage, Daphne felt her stomach clench under Rose's touch, the sensation compounded by the sight of herself trembling in the mirror. Rose's eyes lit up when she finally caught sight of Daphne's reflection looking back at her. She played Daphne's body like a master harpist: pads of her thumbs running smoothly over her clavicle, fingers tracing her nipples, palms raising from ribs to cup her breasts, all the while watching Daphne's arousal rise in the mirror, cheeks hot, breath becoming jagged. Despite being shorter, Rose held Daphne, supporting her at the hips and letting her rest into her chest, maintaining her ministrations with a single finger. They watched together as Daphne’s skin flushed and goose bumps appeared in Rose's wake; watched as Daphne tried to press into Rose, yearning for friction, head lolled back, desperate with need. This broke the mirror’s spell and sent them to her bed.

"Ms. Kluger, we are 2 minutes out," Ben calls from the driver seat through the open partition, pulling Daphne from her sex-filled memories.

"Thanks Ben," Daphne replies, grabbing a Kleenex out of her purse. She isn’t sure if it’s from her cappuccino or her reverie, but tiny beads of sweat are forming on the back of her neck. She dabs them away and pulls out her handheld mirror to double check her makeup. "As gorgeous as one can be at 10 in the morning," Daphne says quietly to herself. She puts away her mirror and checks her phone once more. Cynthia has texted her back: _I told you when you hired me I could anticipate your needs before you could. I intend to keep delivering on that._ Her text is followed by that winky smiley face with the tongue out. Daphne is thankful for Cynthia. She just understands her, appreciates her sense of humor, and can give a little sass back when it is warranted. They respected each other, and their rapport, at least in Daphne's experience, is hard to come by between an actor and their personal assistant. 

Daphne returns her phone to her purse, stretches her neck and downs the rest of her coffee. Ben parks and opens her door, offering his hand. She takes it and steps out onto the sidewalk, shaking out her brown tresses and putting her sunglasses on she tries to hide the fluttering in her stomach. 

"Ben, I'll call you when I'm ready. Rose and I will probably do lunch, so it won't be before 2pm I imagine. The morning is yours."

"You're the boss," Ben says, closing her door. He waits by the car for her to get buzzed into Rose's studio, and Daphne gives him a wave as she pulls open the imposing warehouse door. Ben is like a father to her and his concern for her wellbeing makes her heart swell. 

After the Met job, Rose purchased a huge space and converted it into her new design studio. Nine Ball connected Rose with her contractor, Candace, and from what Daphne heard from Debbie, the space is part design studio, part entertainment space, 100% Rose. When Daphne walks through the imposing door she is showered in natural light. The studio is mostly open, but there is a lofted second level pushing into half of the space from the far wall. Large windows fill the upper sections of the space, but the street level is windowless, creating an intimate environment. The studio is quiet and Daphne discovers the cross purpose of the industrial exterior is to serve as a sound barrier against passing street traffic. Daphne steps into the studio a few feet further and looks around, taking it all in. There is a huge cutting table in the corner, suspended lights hang above it by what looks like pliable wire piping so they can be moved around the work table. There are four sewing stations and a bunch of mannequins staged in the corner. 

"Rose?" Daphne calls out into the open space.

"Oh! Daphne, is it 10 already?" She hears Rose's voice before she sees her. Rose emerges on the landing of the second story loft. The stairs are on the far side of the room. Display cases are embedded into the support wall. Some have books in them, some have vases of what appear to be fresh flowers, and others have art in the recess. It's _so_ much better than anything Daphne's seen on Pinterest.

"Rose! Shall I come up, or are you coming down?" Daphne calls, walking closer to her. 

"Come up. I have some tea, and we can chat before I get to dress you." Rose says, clasping her hands together. Her smile radiates across the room. Daphne can’t pinpoint it exactly, maybe it is how frazzled Rose always seems, or maybe it is just her Irish sensibility, but you really have to earn Rose's smile. When you do, it means that much more. Daphne’s face naturally falls into a smile in response, and she feels an extra bounce in her step as she makes her way to the bottom of the stairs.

“I love what you’ve done to this place. I mean, I know we are on the edge of the garment district, but this is positively divine.” 

As Daphne makes her way up the stairs, she finally gets a real glimpse of Rose. Her body is buzzing in anticipation, each step she takes brings Rose closer into focus. She has on faded denim jeans and her white blouse is tucked in. The cuffs on her shirt are turned up, exposing a floral pattern accent. Her glasses are askew in her hair and her other pair sit on her face. Daphne wants nothing more than to grab onto the lapels of her shirt and plant a kiss on her, complimentary fiery red lips meeting each other. 

If you told Daphne six months ago she would have a thing for Rose Weil– _with_ Rose Weil–she would have laughed in your face. And yet? Here she is, allured by Rose’s quirkiness: her devotion to pink, her need to be desirable. Rose can be incredibly awkward, but, after she warms to you, and you to her, she is incredibly endearing. Daphne is certifiably smitten, and it kind of freaks her out, but here she is, trying to play it cool.

When she meets Rose at the landing, Rose air kisses her on both cheeks. Just their cheeks grazing has Daphne tingly all over. Daphne breaths in Rose’s natural scent, a mix of expensive shampoo, which Daphne thinks must be lavender and honey, and the faintest hint of Josef-Statkus perfume.

“Daphne, it’s so good to see you,” Rose says, grabbing Daphne’s hands. “I wasn’t sure your schedule would permit it, but I really wanted you to be the first to try on my new collection.”

Daphne squeezes their hands tighter together and thinks about saying something she shouldn’t. Instead she says, “Rose, you know I will always make time for you. After the Met Gala. . . well, I’m forever in your debt.” They both know she isn’t talking about her knockout dress. Whether or not Rose knows she is talking about more than the heist, Daphne is unsure.

“Come, come, sit. Let’s have tea. It’s been too long, Daphne. Tell me what've you been up to?” Rose releases one of Daphne’s hands and pulls her toward an adorned seating area. They settle onto a vintage settee. Fresh flowers burst from the side tables and tea is set out on the coffee table. A porcelain teapot featuring a floral pattern and gold edging on the spout and lid sits between two cups, both are preset with a single sugar cube in the bottom of each cup. 

Daphne watches Rose pour their tea and says, “Let’s not talk about me. You can read about my life on page 6. I want to hear about your new line, this place! Everything has been moving so fast for you.”

“Oh Daphne, I’m not sure how I’m still standing. This remodel, the new line. This is for the youngsters. I’m not cut out for this kind of effort anymore.” Rose hands Daphne a teacup and saucer. 

“Please. Rose, this place is stunning. I expect a tour before I go.” 

Rose puts her hand on Daphne’s knee, and the teacup in Daphne’s hand begins to shake slightly against her saucer; she takes a drink to stop the rattling. Rose doesn’t appear to notice. “Daphne, I’ve been wanting to tell you how much I admire your poise. You are very put together. You handle your fame with class. When I first rose to fame, well, I didn’t handle it well. I fell in with the wrong people, spent too much money. Hell, I married too many of the wrong people.” 

Daphne sets her tea down. “But Rose, look what you’ve rebuilt.” Daphne gestures to the loft. “You did this! You are a trendsetter. Seeing your vision come to life, seeing you happy, it makes me happy.” Daphne has to stop talking. She almost said Rose’s happiness is everything to her. What did Cynthia put in her cappuccino this morning? She feels like a teenager with her first crush. Rose isn’t like anyone she’s ever been with, like anyone she’s ever met. Daphne doesn’t want it to be a game with Rose, but she can’t say no to her either. If Rose wants to keep it light, Daphne will keep it light. Well, try to anyway.

“If neither of us want to talk about ourselves, let’s talk about the others,” Daphne says, taking another sip of tea. Rose places her hand on Daphne’s arm and it sends a thrill through her, and as is now customary, small goose bumps appear under Rose's touch.

“Daphne, thank you so much for helping to get Amita’s private client list going. She really needed to get out from under her mum’s thumb, and no amount of money could do it. But fame, and in her mother’s eyes, being more marriageable, well it means a lot to Amita, even if she doesn’t know how to tell you.”

“She deserves it. Have you met her mother?”

“No, I think Amita keeps us away on purpose.” 

“We’re all misfits aren’t we?”

“Oh Daphne, my dear, don’t you know normal is a myth?” 

The _my dear_ doesn't go unnoticed. Daphne puts her teacup on the table. “I guess you're right.” Daphne tries to keep the listlessness out of her voice. Weird though, how nearly everyone in Debbie’s crew is some kind of orphan. Wanting to change the topic, Daphne asks, “How many pieces do you have for me to try on today? I can’t wait to see what you’ve put together.”

"I can't wait to show you Daph. I have three dresses, one I think you will absolutely _love_ , two pairs of knickers, and a couple of blouses. I think I can launch the new collection in a couple of months, if I can close the deal with a few of my suppliers."

Daphne watches Rose's chest rise as she takes a breath, admires her lips as they part enough to close on the cup as she takes a drink of tea. Realizing she might be staring a bit too intensely at Rose's mouth, she offers, "When you have a date for the launch, please have your assistant let Cynthia know, barring my being on location somewhere, I'll be there."

Perking up, Rose asks, "Oh, do you have a new project lined up then?"

"Not yet, but sometimes these things move quickly. We'll see. Keep your fingers crossed for me that Cynthia finds something good soon. Mostly, we've been reading variations on the same role for weeks. My agent keeps passing them along, saying they are different because of this or that, but really it's more of the same." Daphne lets out a heavy sigh, being reminded of the lack of interesting prospects is depressing.

"Oh Daphne, don't despair, something will come along soon, I know it," Rose says, bringing her hand to cup Daphne's cheek. Daphne reflexively leans her head into it, reveling in the nurturing touch. Rose's fingers are strong from years of sewing and they are always manicured. Earlier, Daphne noticed the wonderful contrast of plum nail polish against pale skin when Rose poured their tea. As Daphne burrows further into Rose's touch, eyes falling closed, she feels their legs bump into each other, their bodies unconsciously seeking one another out. Daphne has never felt more cared for and unselfconscious than when she's in Rose's orbit.

"Are we doing this?" Daphne ventures to ask.

Rose starts a trail of kisses up Daphne's jaw and then she feels the warmth of Rose's voice on her ear as she whispers, "Let me take care of you." 

It's a declaration of her intentions more than a real question. Daphne thinks Rose must know the answer, must know how yielding Daphne becomes under her touch, her breath. But Rose waits for a reply, running a finger over Daphne's ear, sending tendrils of desire coursing through her.

Daphne manages to verbalize what her body is screaming: "Yes," and she is instantly rewarded with Rose's tongue on her ear. “Rose, I need you."

"I'm right here," Rose whispers into her ear, placing her palm over Daphne's racing heart, "I'm right here.

** Constance **

Daphne has been transfixed by Constance’s instagram stories for the last few months. Especially the ones about her sleight of hand games in Central Park. People have been lining up for weeks to try to figure out how to beat her at her new game, 'The Hustle', a modern riff on a monte game, but with seven cards instead of three, and a jaw dropping reveal at the end. She has been trying to figure out how to approach Constance, and finally decides to text her. 

Constance, how have you been?

Yo, Daphne! What’s up?!

What are you doing tomorrow?

Chilling. Why? What’s up Daph?

I’ve been watching your insta stories and I want you to give me a lesson

A lesson? What kinda lesson?

Sleight of hand. Card tricks?

Oh! Yes. Let’s do it. It will be fun.

Daphne is so excited she can hardly contain herself. She is finally going to get a private lesson from Constance and she doesn’t know what to wear. She wants to look good, but she isn’t sure _how_ good. She is still emotionally compromised from her afternoon last week with Rose, but maybe something new, no-strings, pure fun, will shake her out of it.

She is used to wearing dresses nearly everywhere. But, given she is going to Constance’s loft and she isn’t sure whether Constance ever bought any furniture aside from that space age red chair, Daphne decides to wear black skinny jeans, ballet flats, and a tight v-neck blouse.

* * *

Two hours later, Daphne is almost passable at running 'The Hustle', but she senses Constance is getting bored. She has been skateboarding around her loft for the last 20 minutes, stopping occasionally to observe and encourage Daphne. Daphne decides she has had enough tricks and is more interested in having a treat. 

Standing up, Daphne says, “Constance, come here.” Constance skates over to her and launches her skateboard into her hand, setting it easily against the wall. Daphne finds the casualness with which she does this impossibly sexy. Constance saunters over and Daphne hands her back the deck of cards. “Thanks for the lesson. It makes me appreciate your skill that much more,” Daphne’s praise is sincere, and she hopes Constance can see that. 

Constance sets the deck on the wood block she’s using as a side table. Facing Daphne, she puts her hand on her forearm. “You did well, I admire your persistence. Most people get bored when they realize it’s not magic and you have to work at it.” Constance shrugs.

Daphne squares herself up to Constance, “Well, you know I’m fond of hard work...and playing hard too.” Daphne drags the perfectly manicured French tip of her index finger up Constance’s arm, resting her hand on her shoulder. “I would really like to kiss you right now,” Daphne drawls.

“Oh, uh yeah, that’s cool,” Constance says, putting her hand on Daphne’s shoulder. Daphne settles onto the couch next to them, puts her hands on Constance’s hips and pulls her onto her lap, removing Constance’s beanie and tossing it on top of the cards on the side table. Their eyes meet and Daphne leans in.

“Ow!” they say in unison. They both leaned left and smacked foreheads. Constance snorts and covers her mouth with her hand.

“Nervous?” Daphne asks.

“A little,” Constance admits quietly.

Daphne’s long fingers curl under Constance's chin, pulling her head up again to meet Daphne’s gaze. She leans down and kisses her softly on the lips, once, twice, and by the third peck Constance has opened her mouth to Daphne, inviting her in. 

Daphne leans into Constance's body, deepening the kiss; her fingers find the back of Constance's head, dragging her nails over her scalp. This elicits a small whimper from Constance. Daphne's body is humming with desire. She can't get the purchase she wants, so she leans into the couch and pulls Constance closer to her. It's not enough, so she moves her fingers under the hem of Constance's shirt, ready to pull it over her head.

Constance pushes away from Daphne. "Whoa, Daph. Hold on okay?"

Constance is still in Daphne's lap, but perched back on her knees. The gap between them now feels vast to Daphne. "Yeah sure."

They are both looking at each other, unwilling to break the silence. But Daphne can't take it anymore. "I'm sorry, did I misread this? It felt like you were into it."

"Oh, uh yeah. I was. I mean, I definitely wanted to kiss you. I've always wanted to kiss a movie star, and we're friends, right? But, beyond that, I don't know." Constance cringed, pulling her hair back with the hair tie waiting on her wrist. "Sorry, that didn't come out right."

Daphne's laugh comes out more exasperated than amused, "So you weren't just using me for my fame?" Suddenly a lot more self conscious, she crosses her arms over her chest.

"Daph, no, of course not. Look I'm sorry. I just got carried away in the moment."

Daphne begins to pout. The rejection feels worse than the situation calls for, and she realizes she is more confused about her and Rose than anything else.

Constance doesn't know this though, so she starts trying to placate Daphne. "You really are more beautiful in person." Daphne meets her eyes. "I mean it, Daph. You are stunning. It's not about you. It's–"

"Constance, stop. It's okay, really." Daphne's body softens a little, and Constance takes the opening to climb off Daphne's lap and sit cross legged on the couch beside her.

"Are you sure? Because that was really awkward and tense back there and serious is not my strong suit."

The truth of her statement causes Daphne to chuckle, and then before she can think about it too much she says, "It's not you. It's Rose." Unable to bear the weight of that bomb she just dropped, she turns her gaze to her hands, now clasped in her lap.

"Rose Weil?"

"There is only one Rose." Daphne is melancholic now.

"Daphne, what are you talking about? What is going on with you and Rose?" Scooting closer to Daphne, Constance's gaze on her is intense, and she feels like it's burning into her.

"Well, I don't know. A whole lot of nothing, if you can call having sex with her for hours last week nothing. I mean, we hadn't talked about it since that first time and–"

"Whoa whoa, slow down Daphne. Are you telling me you _and_ Rose Weil are sleeping together? Are you. . . like an item?"

The hair that has fallen into Daphne's face flies up as she lets out a heavy sigh. "Honestly, I don't know. I don't. . . No? I mean we don't talk about it. We _haven't_ talked about it."

Constance sits back against the couch. They are both quiet for a long time.

"Look I'm going to go. I'm sorry about all of this, and I shouldn't have said anything. Constance, promise me you won't say anything."

"Daphne, stay. Let's talk about it. I'm sorry. You and Rose, that is just a lot for me to process. I mean, Rose Weil. Is she. . . no, nevermind."

Daphne does feel better having told someone else, but she is not sure Constance was the best choice. "Promise me you won't say anything, or I'll put the secrets to your card tricks on the internet."

Putting her hands up Constance says, "Okay, okay, I promise I won't say anything." She moves to face Daphne again. "That doesn't change the fact that you are so twisted up about this that not 15 minutes ago you were ready to fuck me right on this couch."

Daphne covers her face with her hands. "I know, ugh. I'm sorry. That's worse than you wanting to kiss me because I'm famous. I just thought if I let off some steam, maybe I wouldn't think about her so much. That maybe, just maybe it was just an imaginary attachment because I hadn't been with a woman in a while and. . .oh god, now I'm rambling."

Daphne feels Constance's hand on her shoulder, so she tilts her head to look at her. "Look Daphne, I'm no expert at this heart stuff, but I think you should go home, have a pint of ice cream, and then call Rose in the morning. Either way you have to figure out where you stand. Loose ends like this just make you feel like you are going through life flapping in the wind."

"Maybe you are right. Give yourself more credit, I think that is good advice. Well, at least the ice cream part."

Constance punches her lightly in the arm. "Daph, bottling stuff up isn't good for you. I know that much."

"You're right. Thanks." Daphne stands up and Constance joins her.

They both move in for a hug, but stop short. They’ve become timid and awkward. Finally Constance wraps Daphne up and when she releases her she says, "We good?" Daphne nods, and then Constance adds more playfully, "Don't make this awkward Daph. I can't lose my only famous friend."

For that, Daphne delivers her own punch to Constance's arm.

"Okay, I deserved that. Let me walk you down."

"Thanks. Ben should be waiting."

**Amita**

Daylight is fading. Daphne can see Central Park out her window and the bustle of the afternoon on the city streets below. Daphne wants to talk to Amita about the upcoming award season. She is hoping Amita can make her a necklace and a pair of earrings and maybe a bracelet. She hasn’t seen Amita enough lately, but she heard via Rose she was going through a rough patch. She thinks about waiting until tomorrow, but Daphne decides to just call her and check in. Daphne presses for Amita’s cell and taps to put her iPhone on speaker. At the sound of ringing, she sets the phone on her chest, which happens to make a great shelf.

“Daphne, hey. It’s not a good time.”

“Amita, are you okay? You sound upset.” Daphne picks up her phone and takes it off speaker. Cynthia is here working, and as much as Daphne trusts her, she wants to respect Amita’s privacy.

Amita sighs into the receiver. “I’m a mess. I broke up with Asher but I’m still not sure it was the right thing to do.”

“Why don’t you come over tonight and I’ll open some wine and you can tell me all about it,” Daphne offers.

Amita hedges “I don’t know. I’m in my sweats and I haven’t left my room in a couple days.”

“Come on, I’ll send over my car and order takeout. It will be good to get out of the house. You have a couple hours. Take a shower, put on some yoga pants, and I’ll have Ben pick you up at six.” 

“Thanks Daphne, you’re right. I’ll see you later.”

Daphne tosses her phone on the coffee table and turns toward Cynthia. “Cynthia, drop whatever your working on, we have a new project. Amita’s coming over to my house later and I need to get takeout. She’s emotionally fragile. What do you think I should order?”

“Well, I know my first instinct is to get pizza or something comforting, but it just makes me feel worse afterward,” Cynthia says sheepishly.

“Yes, you’re right, no gut bombs. Chinese can be messy and harder to eat. Salad is boring, and I eat so. much. salad. What else is near my place?”

“There’s always sushi?” Daphne thinks about it for a minute. “No, I don’t want us to stress about chopsticks. Plus raw fish out of refrigeration, no thanks.”

Cynthia closes her eyes and taps her pen on the desk, thinking of other options. “Oooo, how about wraps? You could do falafel, or Greek–gyros are pretty healthy.” 

Daphne grabs her phone. “Perfect! There is that Gyro Xpress on 8th.”

“Personally, I think Hummus and Pita Co. on 6th is superior, plus you can get falafel and gyro or chicken and their pita is amazing,” Cynthia offers her expertise.

“Their pita _is_ better! Alright, check that off the list. Can you let Ben know I’ll want to head home in twenty minutes or so, and then he can drop you wherever you want on his way to get Amita.”

Daphne watches Cynthia tap out a text message to Ben. She sticks her tongue out just a tiny bit when she’s trying to concentrate and work quickly. Daphne finds it distracting in the best way. 

Cynthia returns her phone to the desk. “Done,” she says, looking up expectantly at Daphne. 

Daphne makes eye contact and is trying to pretend she wasn’t just ogling Cynthia. “Good, we can look at the menu in the car and then I’ll order takeout and have it delivered around 6:30.”

“Sounds like a plan. I’m almost done with this script, so I’ll be ready when Ben arrives.”

“Is it any good?” 

“It’s another reboot, can’t Hollywood come up with anything new?”

“I want something edgy, maybe dark.”

“Daphne–we’ve been over your requirements. You’ll be the first to know when I find something worthy of your _considerable_ talent.”

Daphne turns to face Cynthia, hugging the back of the couch, she smiles and says, “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

Cynthia rolls her eyes and says, “You’re damn cheesy you know that?” She turns her focus back to her scrips and Daphne retrieves her phone to pull up the dinner menu.

Before they know it Cynthia’s phone chimes. “Ben’s pulling up,” she says, gathering the papers on the desk and putting them into her drawer and locking it.

* * *

It is just after 6pm when security phones to tell Daphne they are sending Amita up. Daphne is grateful to be saved from unnecessary pillow fluffing. Daphne wonders if Amita’s light knock is indicative of her fragile state. Opening the door to Amita’s puffy eyes and blotchy skin confirms her suspicion and make Daphne’s heart ache. 

"Come in, come in," Daphne says, pulling Amita into the foyer by the elbow. Amita shuffles inside but just stands in the entryway. Daphne starts working Amita's coat off, she lets her arms fall behind her, minimally participating in the effort. The coat closet shuts with a thud, closing the remnants of the outside world away with Amia's jacket. Daphne slips her arm around Amita and guides her to the sofa. "Your hair smells nice. Dinner will be delivered soon, are you hungry?"

"Not particularly," Amita says softly.

"Well, on the bright side, you are showered. . .and you left your house," Daphne says, squeezing her tighter before releasing her. Daphne sits and Amita follows.

"Thanks Daph, I would still be huddled in my bed surrounded by a sea of Kleenex if you hadn't called."

"I'm glad you listened to me. It's been too long since we saw each other."

Amita makes eye contact. "I know I kind of disappeared. I'm sorry for that," she says, sniffling. The tissue box is just out of reach on the far table, so Daphne stands up to grab it. When she does, the phone by the door rings.

"That must be dinner," Daphne says. She places the Kleenex box next to Amita and walks over to the door to answer the phone. "Yes, send them up. Thanks Laney." Daphne returns the phone to the cradle and sits next to Amita. "I hope you like Greek, because I ordered wraps."

Amita shifts in her seat. "I don't know how you do it. . ."

"Do what?" Daphne asks, resting her hand on Amita's knee.

"Judge people. How do you separate the real people from the ones that are just out for your money and your fame? I started to question all my interactions with Asher, and he didn't even know I had actual money. He just assumed since I'm a jeweler I was loaded." Daphne plucks a Kleenex from the box and hands it to Amita.

"I've always been a pretty good judge of character, and I got lucky with people like Ben who were just good eggs from the beginning. But, I think romantic entanglements are a lot harder. . ." The feel of Amita's shoulder gently pressing into Daphne's alerts her that her trailing off in thought did not go unnoticed.

"Is there something you want to tell me Daph?" Amita gently presses.

Three loud raps on the door are just the out Daphne needs.

"Hold that thought,” Daphne says as she heads toward the door. 

Daphne opens the door and Geoff, her regular Postmates delivery guy, is standing on the other side.

“Hey Daphne, I have your order from Hummus and Pita Co.”

“Thanks Geoff,” Daphne says, taking the bag, “see you next time.” Daphne gives him a small wave as she closes the door. Technology has made some things a lot more convenient, and food delivery is at the top of Daphne’s list. Geoff started delivering to her building about six months ago and he is always professional and polite. She’s sure it doesn’t hurt that she tips well.

Returning to the couch, she places the bag on the glass coffee table, opening it and lifting it toward Amita’s nose. 

"Mmmmm–okay, maybe I am hungry," Amita says, a small smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

"Good!" Daphne says, unpacking the contents. She opens each lid, revealing what's inside to Amita as she goes. "I ordered chicken gyros. This one looks like falafel. Hummus and extra pita bread in here. Oh, and this must be the Greek salad." She thrusts a plate into Amita's hands encouragingly.

"Daphne. . ."

"What? Did I miss something?"

"Why are you suddenly going a mile a minute?"

"Wine! That is what I forgot. I'll be right back." Daphne says, practically jumping off the couch and heading into the kitchen.

_Get it together Daphne_ , she tells herself. She knows this is supposed to be about Amita. She had the best intentions to take care of her friend, but she desperately wants to commiserate about her own messy love life. The wine bottle is cold against her palm and she takes in a few deep breaths, letting the cold air from the wine fridge waft over her face.

Walking back into the living room, Daphne holds up the bottle. "Riesling! It's from this great winery in the Livermore Valley. Everyone goes to Napa, but really, it's just so crowded these days." She turns toward the bar to grab some wine glasses.

"Daphne."

The pop of the cork fills the silence that has now blanketed the room. When Daphne returns to the couch with her and Amita's glasses, she is happy to see Amita has a healthy plate of food–lots of falafel and a little of everything else. Her stomach does a flip-flop because Amita is looking at her like a dog with a bone and she knows she's not getting out of this easily.

"So, tell me what happened with Asher," Daphne says, taking a sip of wine and turning to fill her own plate.

"I'll tell you what happened with Asher, if you stop being weird and tell me what's _happening_ with you and Rose.”

Daphne's face contorts, betraying her attempt to play it cool, so she decides to give in. "How do you know there is anything going on with me and Rose?" Another sip–no, gulp–of wine flows down Daphne's throat. Her eyes challenge Amita, daring her to divulge what she knows.

Amita setes her plate on the coffee table and takes her first sip of wine. "Crisp, is that apple?"

"Asian pear actually. Isn't it nice? I think it's a perfect match for the garlic in Greek food."

"Daphne, enough stalling. You know Rose and I are friends. Who else is she going to trust with her pillow talk that can actually keep their mouth shut? I mean, I'm not Constance."

"She already knows," falls out of Daphne's mouth before she can think to stop herself. _Shit._

"Constance knows, and you are worried about talking to me about it? Thanks for the vote of confidence Daph—I thought we were friends!"

"Don't get upset, this was supposed to be about you, not me. Look it just happened. We were hanging out, we started kissing, but that—"

"Wait. You and Constance KISSED?!" 

"You are missing the point. It was all wrong and then I just started spewing about Rose and I—look, she was surprisingly mature about it, more mature than you're being right now." The clatter of Daphne's fork hitting the table as she also abandons her plate makes them both laugh at how silly they’re being. Bringing her knees to her chest, Daphne rests her head on them, staring at Amita.

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry, I'm not trying to make light of it, but, you did kiss Constance. That new piece of information threw me for a loop. Why don't you finish eating, I'll tell you about Asher, and then we can talk about you and Rose, deal?"

"Fine." Daphne unfurls herself and retrieves her plate, abandoning her fork in favor of pita and hummus. 

"Look, nothing dramatic happened with Asher. I just started to doubt myself, my worth, and that led me to question his intentions. That's why I'm so upset; I still don't know if he was into me, or just my money, and worse, I'm not sure how to tell the difference." A small sob escapes Amita's chest and Daphne returns her plate to the table, shoving the Kleenex box in Amita's direction.

Scooting herself closer so she can grab Amita's hand, thumb rubbing soothing strokes over brown skin, looking into her eyes, Daphne says, "Amita, you are not the woman your mother says you are. You are not your sister. You are a smart, beautiful, and talented woman, who also happens to have come into some serious cash. But look, the money doesn't make you who you are. Your smile, your sarcasm, even your naïvete. You are one of the most creative jewelry makers in Manhattan, and I don't want you to forget that. You did that, no one else."

Daphne feels herself falling into Amita, being sucked into her embrace. It's nice, the two of them sharing their warmth with each other. After a while she feels two tight squeezes and then Amita's arms relax and fall to her sides. Daphne leans back on the couch. "I mean it. Don't sell yourself short."

"Thanks Daph. Look it never would have worked out with Asher anyway. He didn't like bread."

"He what?!"

"I know right? Weird." Amita chuckled. "Ugh, I don't know why I let myself get so worked up. We weren't even that serious and _I_ Nothing. I just don’t need her knowing you’re my chaperone at the sex store, okay?”

“You think she’s cute, don’t you?”

“Come on Daph.”

“She has an amazing body.”

“Daphne!” Amita shrieks, lobbing a pillow at her.

Daphne dodges the pillow and laughs, putting her hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. So, we had sex before the Met Gala, but then we didn’t make a big deal about it. We didn’t talk about it at all, actually, and it’s not like you all were very welcoming to me in the beginning, so I just chalked it up to an amazing one night stand.” Daphne lets silence fill the air. She takes another sip of her wine. Amita looks at her expectantly.

“And now?” Amita finally prods.

“We might've slept together again.”

“And?”

“I dunno! It was a couple of weeks ago when I went to try on her new line. We’ve talked since then, but not about sleeping together. I don’t know, maybe she’s not into me? I’m not even sure I’m into her. I’m all twisted up, Amita. The sex is good, really good. But I'm not sure if it’s just new and exciting or if I am starting to have real feelings for her. She's just so complex, you know? The more I spend time with her the more I really see who she is, and I like that."

The coolness of the wine on Daphne's tongue distracts her and allows her to catch her breath. She takes another sip. Amita puts her glass down and then her hand covers Daphne's, gently removing the stem from her grasp.

"Come here," Amita says, pulling Daphne into her embrace, gently guiding Daphne's head onto her shoulder. Amita's fingers stroke her hair, run through her waves—the warm, buzzing filling her body is just like being tipsy. Daphne is not sure whether it's Amita's care or the wine, but she feels malleable and cozy cuddled into the crook of Amita's neck, but her heart is still racing from her confession. "Just relax, breathe with me," Amita instructs, and they inhale slowly together.

Daphne's words come slower now, measured, mirroring her breathing. "She's the older one. Shouldn't she take the lead here? The not talking about it is screwing with me. Even the craziest casual flings I've been involved in, we've at least acknowledged what it was."

Amita kisses Daphne's forehead and cups her cheek. "I want to hear more about that later. But back to Rose. Did you ever think she’s letting you drive the interactions? That she’s self conscious or intimidated by you? That she doesn’t want to be clingy or make you think she is trying to tie you down?"

Daphne buries her head into Amita's chest and groans.

"I don't know, Amita. Rose never acts weird or star struck around me, which is one of the things I find incredibly sexy. She sees me. I guess I can see her not wanting to make the first move, but I don't want to say the wrong thing and ruin it. If she wants to keep it casual, I could be okay with that. If she wants to see each other more and see where this goes, I would be into that too."

Daphne sits up, "Oh god, what if the second time was just a test to see if we imagined how good the first time was and she decided she's not into me at all? I don't think I could take that rejection."

Amita's hands slide into hers again. They are soft and grounding. "Daph, we could go around and around on this all night. You need to talk to her."

Daphne bites the inside of her cheek and then says, "I don't know if I can. I don't know where to start."

"Look, I think you need to go talk to Tammy."

"Tammy?" Daphne tilts her head and stares at Amita in confusion. 

"Yes, Tammy. She and Debbie had a thing–"

"But I thought Debbie and Lou were a thing," Daphne interjects.

"They are. Look, just talk to Tammy. She's been in your shoes before, and she knows what happens when no one is willing to make a move."

Unsure how to respond, Daphne thinks about what Amita just told her and squeezes her hands.

"I feel so much better. Honestly Daph, thank you so much for sending Ben and dragging me out of my house."

"Why don't you stay over? I can lend you some PJs and we can hang out for a while, finish this wine, and cuddle later. Then, tomorrow we can get brunch and go to Babeland!"

"Really? I don't want to impose. But avoiding my Kleenex-filled bedroom sounds pretty great right now. I feel like if I go back there I'll just start crying again, but getting out of that physical space, I feel like I'm getting over Asher."

Clasping her hands together, Daphne says, "Good, I'm glad. I feel like this was supposed to be about cheering you up and it turned into me unloading my girl drama on you."

Amita arches her eyebrow, "Isn't that what friends are for?"

Daphne picks up her wine again and wryly says, "Don't ask me," before taking another healthy swallow.

"Well, it has been a great distraction. I like being the first to get the good gossip for a change." Daphne gives her a look and Amita quickly adds, "Don't worry, I won't say anything. It just, you know, my sister was always the popular one, and I was always the tag-along."

"Amita, you are no one’s tag-along. You are a badass, famous jewelry designer, and don't let your mom or your sister or some dude tell you otherwise."

Amita blushes and says softly, "Thanks Daph."

"Isn't that what friends are for?" Daphne says with a grin.

"I'm still feeling a bit like a livewire. Could we abandon this wine and move straight to cuddling?"

Daphne finishes off her wine in two gulps. "Sure. I'm a fantastic big spoon." Extricating herself from the couch, Daphne extends her hand; Amita's fingers slide into hers and she melts into the softness. Daphne cannot wait to hold Amita in her arms and run soothing strokes over the full curves of her body.

Daphne emerges from her walk in closet with black jersey sleep pants and a loose fitting Jamaica t-shirt. "Here, these should fit."

"Where did you...are these Nine Ball's?!"

Daphne smiles, sauntering over to her bathroom and out of view. She calls out to Amita, "Don't stand out there with your mouth hanging open, I have a toothbrush for you."

**Author's Note:**

> More sex in the final installment I promise!


End file.
